Remember Us?
by The 1000th Kiss
Summary: After Collins runs into some familiar faces, he and Joanne have a conversation. Oneshot, read & review please.


**I own nothing but the plot line. The Almighty Larson owns the rest.**

Collins hurried onto the subway just before the doors closed. He sighed in relief as he looked at the people who were already on the subway. Normally, the subway was packed with people and he had to stand until some of them got off. Today, three men were the only ones in the car. They were sitting together, so Collins concluded that they were friends. As he sat down across from them, one of their shirts caught his eye. It reminded him of a shirt he had. He shook it off as just a coincidence and opened his briefcase. As the subway started to move, he touched the small, velvet box inside and smiled. The box was the reason he had nearly missed the subway, but it was going to be worth it when he got home to Angel.

"Either of you guys got a light?" one of the men asked his friends. They both answered negatively. Collins closed his briefcase at the sound of the man's voice and stared at him. He felt like he'd heard it before. He dropped his gaze to the floor as the man looked to him. "Hey, you got a light, man?"

Collins looked up at the man. Between his voice and the shirt he was wearing, he was certain he knew this man. His mind suddenly raced back to one month ago. Christmas Eve. He was sitting right in front of the men who mugged him that night.

"That's my shirt," he said. The man looked down at the shirt and then back to Collins.

"What?" he replied. Collins stood up and carefully stepped toward the three men.

"That's my shirt." The man looked to his friends and they gave him a confused look. "About a month ago, you three assholes beat me up and stole my stuff. Then you left me in an alley." One of the men, who had a scar on the right side of his face, looked at Collins and his eyes widened.

"Holy shit," he said. He turned to his friends. "I remember this guy. We went through his bag and sold what we didn't want. It was . . . Christmas or some shit."

"You sold my stuff?" Collins asked in shock.

"Yeah, we did."

"Got good money for it, too," the man in Collins' shirt added. He stared Collins up and down. "We could probably get good money for that coat you have on." Collins' heartbeat quickened.

"The briefcase, too," one of the other men commented. "What's in it?"

"Nothing that concerns you," Collins replied, taking a small step backwards. The three men exchanged looks and stood up as the subway started to slow down.

"You sure about that?" the scarred man challenged. He gave Collins a hard shove, forcing him to sit back down. Collins wished he hadn't said anything. This isn't what he wanted to happen. He kept his eyes on the doors of the subway car as it came to a complete stop. The second they opened, he hit two of the men in the face with his briefcase and bolted out of the car. It wasn't his stop, but he didn't want to spend another minute alone trapped with those men.

He ran as fast as he could through the streets while trying to figure out where he was and how to get back to the apartment he shared with Angel. Out of instinct, he glanced behind him and saw that the only man chasing him was the one with the scarred face. When he turned his attention back to in front of him, he saw the man in his shirt running toward him. He stopped running and, just as he decided he should cross the street, he saw the third man waiting for an opportunity to sprint across the busy street. He knew the only place he could run was into the alley behind him and that's just what he did.

There was a fence in the middle of the alley and he was sure he wouldn't be able to climb it. Luckily, there was a hole in it that was just barely big enough for him to squeeze through. Just as he was on the other side of the fence, he saw the man wearing his shirt and the scarred man coming into the alley from the other side. He looked behind him and saw the third man squeezing through the hole in the fence with a metal pipe in his hand.

"Shit," he muttered. He was suddenly grabbed and his briefcase fell from his hand as he was slammed against the wall of a building. The man holding the metal pipe smirked at him. He let out loud cries of pain as the pipe made contact with his midsection over and over again, knocking the wind out of him. The two men who were holding him by his arms soon released him and he fell to his knees. He was then hit in the back of the head with the pipe. As he fell forward, he put his hands out in front of him. He stayed on all fours, not daring to try to stand, as he attempted to catch his breath.

"Come on," the man holding the pipe said. "A big guy like you can't defend himself? That's pathetic." He hit Collins in the side with the pipe. Collins clutched his side in pain as the man wearing his shirt stomped on his back, causing him to fall to the ground. His coat was taken off of him and he was flipped onto his back. The men took turns punching and kicking the poor anarchist until he was seeing double. The pipe was brought down on his midsection one last time before the men picked up his coat. He managed to roll onto his side and reach for his briefcase, but the scarred man stepped on his hand and picked it up himself.

"We'll have to do this again sometime," he said. The three men then walked away, leaving Collins lying on the ground bruised and bleeding. He was freezing without his coat, his sides were throbbing with pain, and he was pretty sure his nose was broken (the blood was running down his face). He tried to sit up a few times, but he couldn't. A few tears fell from his eyes as he lied there occasionally coughing and spitting out blood.

"Oh my God," a familiar voice said. Collins heard a pair of high heels rushing toward him. His mind went back to the night he'd met Angel. His thoughts were interrupted when Joanne knelt in front of him. She gasped loudly. "Collins? Oh my God! What happened to you?"

"Angelsring . . ." Collins slurred. He began coughing violently. Joanne took a handkerchief from her pocket and wiped away the blood that came from his mouth before helping him sit up. He winced in pain as she did so and became nauseated.

"Collins, can you tell me what happened?" Joanne asked. Collins opened his mouth to speak, but quickly turned away from Joanne and threw up on the ground. There was a bit of blood in his vomit. "You need to go to the hospital. Do you think you can stand up?"

"I . . ." Collins' eyes began to close. "I . . . they . . ."

"Collins, try to keep your eyes open. I'm calling for an ambulance, okay?" Collins tried his hardest to keep his eyes from closing as Joanne took her cell phone out of her pocket and dialed 9-1-1. "Yes, I need an ambulance. A friend of mine is badly hurt and . . . Collins, stay with me! _Do not _close your eyes!"

Joanne's voice became more and more unclear to Collins as he faded in and out of consciousness. He wasn't sure how much time had gone by (or how many times he had blacked out) before he opened his eyes and immediately saw that he was in a dimly lit hospital room. His clothes had been replaced with a hospital gown, and his nose had been bandaged with gauze. He then noticed a hand was holding his. Slowly turning his head to the left, he realized the hand belonged to Joanne, who was sitting in a chair beside the bed he was lying in.

"Joanne?" he said. Joanne jumped as if she had been hit by something.

"Oh, thank God," she replied, giving Collins' hand a gentle squeeze. She stopped the anarchist from sitting up. "Collins, you have a severe concussion. If you sit up, you may throw up again."

"Is that why it's so dark in here?" Joanne nodded. An awkward silence passed between the two of them. They had never been alone together and didn't really know that much about each other. Even though Maureen was a strong link between them by being Collins' best friend and Joanne's girlfriend, they hadn't really taken the time to get acquainted. Collins tried to make himself comfortable on the small bed. He inhaled deeply and winced when he felt a sharp pain in his chest. Joanne noticed and felt the need to explain.

"You have two bruised ribs and three broken ones," she told him. "And one of the broken ones came dangerously close to puncturing one of your lungs." Collins eyes widened and Joanne gave his hand another squeeze. "I'm really glad you're okay."

"I'm not goin' anywhere anytime soon, am I?" Collins asked.

"I'm afraid not."

"How long have I been here so far?"

"About two hours." Another silence passed between them. "Collins, what happened? Who did this to you?" Collins hesitated before answering her.

"You know how Angel and I met, right?" he began. Joanne nodded. "Well . . . I ran into the guys that mugged me that night today on the subway. I called them out for what they did and one of them said they could probably get good money for my coat, so as soon as the subway stopped I ran."

"And they caught you," Joanne stated.

"Not right away. They split up and I had nowhere to go except an alley. That's where they caught me. Then they kicked my ass, took my coat and briefcase, and just left me lying on the ground . . . again. One of them had a pipe."

"A pipe?"

"A metal pipe. He hit me with it."

"My God, that's horrible. Did you get a good look at them? If you describe them to me, I can have them found, arrested, and charged with assault."

"Yeah, but I'm not really feeling up to that right now." Joanne gave an understanding nod. "Does Angel know I'm here?"

"Yes, she's in the waiting room. She said she didn't think she could take seeing you unconscious. I can go get her now if you want me to." Joanne started to stand up, but Collins grabbed her arm and forced her to remain seated.

"You can't bring her in here," he said.

"Why not?" Joanne asked. "Don't you want her to know you're okay?"

"Well, yeah, it's just . . . we got into an argument last week."

"And it hasn't been resolved?"

"It kinda has, but I bought her a gift to make the apology official. It's a ring that she's been eyeing for a while."

"Well, I can go get it for you if you'd like."

"No, you can't." Collins felt like crying. "It's in my briefcase."

"Oh . . . well, I'm sure Angel will understand."

"No, I _need _that ring, Joanne."

"Why?"

"I just . . . do."

"Will Angel not forgive you if you don't have the ring?" Collins shrugged. "Does she love you?"

"Yes."

"How much does she love you?"

"I actually asked her that once."

"And what was her answer?"

"She told me that she was completely convinced that she was going to die alone . . . until she met me. And when I asked her about the possibility of me dying first she said even if I _do _die first, she knows I'll still be with her, which means she technically won't die alone."

"Now, tell me, would some who said something like that remain angry at you for not giving them a piece of jewelry?"

"I _know _she won't care about the ring. I just . . . that ring represents more than just my apology right now."

"What else does it represent?"

"My dignity."

"Care to elaborate?"

"I . . . I couldn't fight back. I couldn't defend myself." Collins' urge to cry came back. "Why the hell couldn't I defend myself? I remember a time where I could just shove a person and they'd back off."

"People change, Collins."

"That doesn't make any sense."

"When you met Angel and she showed you love, you changed. You may not have noticed it, but you changed. Things you wouldn't normally do become habits and you don't really do some of the things you used to always do anymore. Before you met Angel, you probably _would've _beaten those guys up and taken your things back, but now that you're with her and you know she's not a fan of fighting, you've decreased your violence level. You've changed for her. Everyone changes for the ones they love even if they don't change for the better."

"You sound like you're speaking from experience."

"I'm in love with Maureen." Collins nodded. "Angel's not going to care about the ring and she's not going to think of you as less of a man for not fighting back. I'm going to go get her now, okay?" Collins nodded again and watched Joanne leave the room. He stared at the ceiling and tried to take shorter breaths to try and minimize the pain in his chest. A few minutes later, the door opened and Angel walked into the room with Joanne right behind her. She ran to the side of the bed Joanne had been sitting on and pressed soft kisses to Collins' forehead.

"Honey, I was _so _scared," she said. Tears were streaming down her cheeks. "Joanne told me everything and the only thing I care about is the fact that you're okay." Collins took one of Angel's hands in his, slowly lifted it to his mouth, and kissed it.

"I love you, Angel," he told her.

"I love you, too, Collins." Angel gave Collins a gentle peck on the lips. Joanne smiled at the couple and headed toward the door.

"I'll give you two some privacy," she said.

"Joanne?" Collins called after her. The lawyer spun around to face him. "Thank you. For everything." Joanne smiled again.

"You're welcome, Collins." With that said, she left the room.

**Review please**


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